


my blood is water with red dye i'm hollowed out with nothing inside

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Drug Addiction, Episode: s05e24 Both Sides Now, F/M, Hallucinations, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scenes, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: What happens after House tells Cuddy he's not okay.





	my blood is water with red dye i'm hollowed out with nothing inside

**Author's Note:**

> i JUST watched both sides now and i got this out of my system. im so fucking emo.
> 
> fills the 'one can never tell' prompt in the dreamwidth comm shortfics, and the 'tactile' prompt in my table at 100prompts.
> 
> title from _hollow_ by stacked like pancakes
> 
> enjoy!

“No, no,” he says, panic taking a hold of him. “That — that’s not what happened. I told you that I needed you.” He’s on the verge of crying. Pathetic. “You  _ helped  _ me.”

“House?” She steps closer to him. “Are you okay?”   
  
He hallucinated all of this. He hallucinated he detoxed, he hallucinated he kissed Cuddy madly, he hallucinated he found her lipstick on his bathroom, he hallucinated he slept with her. He caused all this misery, all this mess because he trusted his brain. Because he couldn't tell what was real or not. Because he trusted his brain and trusted that he had detoxed, that Cuddy had, in fact, slept with him.

How did he believe it? She had said it again and again— if she slept with him it’d be the biggest mistake of her life. He told everyone in the building he slept with Cuddy and it wasn’t even true.

“This is the story you made up about who you are,” Amber sings into his ear. Mocking, always mocking. “It is a nice one.”   


From the corner of his eye, he sees Kutner. He’s not the one with a Messiah complex, but Kutner is the one he couldn’t save. The one he didn’t see. The one he didn’t know about. “Too bad it isn’t true.”   
  
House takes in a shuddering, shaky breath. His head hurts. Everything hurts. He’s taken so much Vicodin and he’s been working through the delusion that he’s detoxed, and so he hadn’t felt pain the whole day. Now it’s come back without stopping, merciless. 

“No,” he admits. “I’m— I’m not okay.”   
  
Cuddy touches his cheek, and he breaks.

The sobs aren’t something that comes naturally to him, but he still cries. And he can’t stop crying. Cuddy wraps her arms around him, keeps him steady as he sobs into her hair, ugly and messy, nonsensical apologies leaving his mouth. He can’t believe this happened— he can’t believe he hallucinated all of this. He wreaked havoc because of a delusion, a hallucination.

“Psychosis,” Amber provides unhelpfully.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes again and again. “I thought you had slept with me, I swore you had slept with me, I was trying to get the answers I was trying to make you angry so you would— so you would—”   


“Shh,”  Cuddy interrupts him, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay.”   
  
“It’s not,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”   
  
“You would’ve done it exactly like that if it was what happened.”   
  
“The problem is that it’s _not_ what happened,” he shoots back through tears, “I’m hallucinating. I’m going _crazy_.”   


Cuddy squeezes his shoulder again. “Mayfield Psychiatry is great from what I’ve heard.”   
  
“I’ve been hallucinating Amber. And just now—” A sob leaves his mouth. “Kutner—”   
  
She softens even more, “House…”   


“You really trusted your brain, huh?” Kutner says. “You can’t even trust yourself.”   


Amber interjects, “You can’t trust yourself, and you’re about to give yourself over to some psychiatrists.”   
  
“Pathetic,” Kutner adds.

Another sob leaves his mouth.

* * *

“Cuddy?” Wilson asks once she slips through the door.

After a few seconds, House does too. He can still hear Amber and Kutner, hammering him for every one of his failures in the last day or so. Pancreatic cancer, not acid reflux. Poisoning. Cuddy. God, Cuddy; she’s not even  _ angry  _ anymore, she’s just dealing with this all, she’s just pushing him into the right direction. He doesn’t know if he’s even in his way to it.

“House?”   


He’s confused. He doesn’t blame him; the last time he’s seen him cry was during his infarction.

“I…” House wipes any leftover tears away. “I didn’t sleep with Cuddy.”   


Wilson’s eyes widen, and he turns to Cuddy, who nods. 

“Pathetic,” Kutner repeats once again. 

“You…” He trails off, and he looks down at his desk. “You hallucinated it all. You hallucinated the detox, the sex with Cuddy...”   
  
“I saw Cuddy’s lipstick instead of my Vicodin bottle,” he says, voice empty and lacking and he’s not showing any emotion. He doesn’t feel anything, all he knows is that Amber keeps her hands on his chest, keeps laughing, singing mockingly. His head swims.

He’s terrified for his future. What if this isn’t him going crazy? What if he’s psychotic? What if he truly is going crazy and not even a trip to Mayfield can’t fix it? He’ll have to stop practicing. What will he do? 

_ What will he do? _

Wilson turns to Cuddy. “You got a psych ward?”   
  
“Mayfield,” Cuddy provides.

“Do you want to go?”   
  
House clenches his fist, resists the urge to punch Amber. He knows it won’t do him much good. He can feel Kutner’s hands on his upper back. The tactile parts of his hallucinations were always too real. Cuddy’s body against his own, Cuddy kissing him, Amber pressing her hands against his heart, Kutner digging his fingers into his coat.

“I don’t want to go crazy,” House says. “I’m already going crazy.”   
  
“It could just be the Vicodin—” Wilson says.

“I don’t want to go crazy,” he insists, his voice hollow.

Wilson circles around his desk and leans in to hug him tightly. He doesn’t welcome the touch, but he doesn’t pull him away, either— tactile sensation away from his hallucinations feels okay. Good, even.

“Let’s get you to a psychiatrist, then.”   


House squeezes Wilson’s shoulder, and Amber presses a kiss to Wilson’s cheek. He can analyze that when he’s not about to go to a psych ward. 

“Cameron and Chase’s wedding is tomorrow,” Cuddy says.

“Oh, you won’t get to make jokes at the expense of your ex-employees’ happiness,” Amber tuts, caressing Wilson’s cheek, “What a shame.”

“You should go,” Wilson tells her, “I’ll take House to Mayfield.”

House draws in a breath, turns to Wilson. Amber is still touching him. “I'm sorry you won’t get to see them getting married.”   
  
He smiles sadly. “You matter more than their wedding.”   
  
“Pretty touchy-feely,” Amber says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of Wilson’s desk. “Don’t you think?”

* * *

Wilson drives to Mayfield in silence.

Amber keeps herself on the backseat, Kutner trying to roll the windows down. Neither of them is wearing a seatbelt.

“I hope it works,” Wilson says before House opens the door.

“I do too.” He pauses and turns to Amber, then back at Wilson. “She’s a figment of my subconscious. And she kissed your cheek.” He gets out of the car. “Make of that what you will.”   


Wilson blinks and gets out of the car too. House hands him everything, sighs heavily.

“Recover,” Wilson tells him.

“I’ll try.” He turns around.

“No,” he says. “You will. For me.” A pause. “Please.”

He nods a little and limps to the psych ward. The men there take him, and he turns to see Wilson looking at him. He looks back.

From the windshield, he can see Amber and Kutner still in Wilson’s car.


End file.
